


The Ultimate Ginger

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if certain circumstances prevented The Doctor and Amy from leaving immediately after solving the church problem? What if they had to stay a while longer, say weeks or months? How would the Doctor do with being around so much domestic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or its characters. 

Prologue

The Doctor ran around the console flipping switches, moving levers and pushing buttons near maniacally. Amy stood near the entrance to the other rooms and frowned at him, something was off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, he wasn't his usual self, she knew that much.

Suddenly, alarms blared through the T. A. R. D. I. S and the color of the console room changed to a bright red, smoke and sparks flying from the controls.

She gasped and hurried toward the Doctor. "Doctor, what's happening? Why is the T. A. R. D. I. S making that noise?!"

He ignored her in favor of muttering. "No, this is bad. That's extremely very not good. Oh, come on! Why won't you show me."

"Doctor!" Amy yelled, annoyed and worried. Neither helped by the Doctors lack of attention to anything but his actions. Currently, he was running around the console pushing and pulling things. He smacked himself, muttered something she couldn't understand and went below.

"There it is!" He exclaimed, settling into the swing.

"Doctor!" The redheaded Scottish young woman shouted, frustrated.

"I'm busy, Pond!" The Doctor replied, fussing with wires and yelping when he got zapped.

"I have a right to know what the hell is going on!" She snapped, kneeling before the opening to the bottom of the console.

The sudden lurch and screech startled both occupants, throwing them around as two more lurches followed.

The Doctor scurried out of the swing and up into the room above. "Amy? You alright?" He called, typing and pressing on the console to determine what had gone wrong.

A groan from the other side of the console was his answer.

"Hang on, Pond, we'll have to land immediately, before we crash." The Doctor explained, maneuvering the big ship into a spot near a shop.

A great, lurching thud signaled their landing. The Doctor ran to the other side of the console to check on Amy. "Oi! Come on, Pond, we've landed. You'd better be Alice when I get to you."

"Where are we? Or should I say when are we?" Amy groaned, rubbing her head from her lying position on the floor.

The Doctor glanced at the screen. "Well, good news, we've arrived at the correct place and time. Bad news, the T. A. R. D. I. S is in need of repairs, so we will have to stay here for a bit."

"Oh, that's just great! Nice going, raggedy man!" Amy growled as she stood.

"We're alive, aren't we? It could have been much worse, could have fallen into the Void or crashed into a Sun or star or something of that nature."

"Fine, you have a point. How long?"

"Eh, five months. This is some heavy damage, I'll have to build some new switches and circuits, among other things."

"Great. Just great."

"Lets just find Van Gogh and get this church thing sorted, alright?" The Doctor replied, his voice relaying that he was running low on patience.

"Yeah." Amy grumbled, following him out of the T. A. R. D. I. S.

"Alright, he should be at the local cafe." He murmured, walking to the right and searching for a building similar to the painting of the cafe.


	2. Invisible Beasts and Calloused Hands

I, Amy Pond, was standing in Vincent Van Gogh's house! I was staring at his paintings! They were everywhere!

Giddyness and excitement fluttered in my stomach as I watched Vincent stoke his fire and carefully add more wood in.

A lot of things had happened since we sort of crashed into the seventeenth century. Vincent Van Gogh thought I was cute, I sat down and drank wine with him, an innocent girl was attacked and we had stones thrown at us.

Now, The Doctor and I were standing in his house. Squeal!

"Wow. Just. . . .wow. These are beautiful." I breathed, gently touching a few of the dry paintings. All of my favorites were here.

"That is very kind of you. Kindess is most welcome." Vincent replied, a small smile briefly lit up his blue eyes. "Coffee anyone?"

"Not for me." The Doctor answered.

"No, thank you. I've never been much of a coffee drinker." I smiled, internally squealing like a school girl.

"So, this church-" The Doctor began, steering the conversation back to the face in the church painting.

"You talk a lot of the church. Why are you so interested in it?" Vincent asked as he took the pot from the fire. I flinched when he set in on the corner of a painting, then swiped at the resulting circle of liquid from the bottom of the pot.

"Oh, you really shouldn't do that, those are very precious. To answer your question, I am casually interested, I like paintings of churches." The Doctor nonchalantly shrugged and sat in the offered chair at the table.

"The paintings precious to no one but me." Vincent commented, an almost bitter note in his voice.

"They're precious to me, I quite like them." I murmured, walking a little further into the kitchen. "How do you decide what to paint? What about something catches your attention?"

"It seems to me that there is more to the world than the average eye is allowed to see. I believe if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could ever have dreamed of. Its color that holds the key." Vincent stated, glancing between me and the Doctor. A look entered his eyes, an expression that I couldn't explain. "I can see what most cannot. They see simple colors and objects. I see a complicated design of colors screaming at me, willing me to unlock their secrets and capture their pure, raw beauty. Every time I step outside, nature is calling me, daring me to paint it, capture its mystery."

"Wow." I murmured breathlessly. He may be a great painter, but he was amazing with words. The way he spoke, it was enchanting. Everything about him was different than anything I'd ever known.

I didn't know what to make of him. My mind struggle to function properly.

"Right, well, how about we visit the church tomorrow?" The Doctor suggested, making me jump a foot. I had forgotten he was there, that he was even in the house with us.

"What's the rush, Doctor? He might have other plans for tomorrow." I didn't want to leave Vincent's little village yet, which is most likely what will happen once we solve the mystery of the evil face in the church paintings window. I wanted to watch him paint my favorite paintings and learn what about them inspired him to paint them.

I wanted to know more about Vincent Van Gogh from the person himself.

"Would you like some tea? There must be chamomile or some other sort of tea here somewhere. I think you've had enough coffee to keep you up for three days." The Doctor straightened his tie and glanced around the room.

I frowned at the Doctor. How could he waste time by asking if Vincent wanted tea, of all things? There was so much to talk about and ask him, the Doctor goes for a question about tea.

"I can look after myself, Doctor, I have for many a year." Vincent growled in his accented crumbly voice. His blue eyes cut into the Doctor, his annoyance plain on his bearded face.

The Doctor replied and then it went back and forth a bit. Ugh, this was getting so boring! Tea versus coffee? Really? I remembered there were more paintings and art supplies outside, and since I'd seen everything inside I decided to go take a look. It was better than listening to the two of them go back and forth all night.

I'd leaned in for a closer view of one of the lesser known paintings, when something knocked into me from behind. I screamed and scrambled backward as soo landed, then again as a few of the paintings were flung by an unseen force and hit my body.

Fear gripped me in an ice cold vice. I couldn't see what attacked me.

I had no idea where it was.

"Amy!" The Doctor yelled, running out of the house, Vincent trailed behind him.

I shifted and cried out as pain shot up my leg from my calf.

"What happened?" The Doctor demanded, kneeling down beside me.

"I was just having a look at the paintings and something attacked me. Doctor, I couldn't see it!" I hissed as my leg throbbed as if to remind me of its suffering. "My leg, I think it might be broken. Whatever it was, it had a wicked swing."

If you hadn't noticed, I was ranting through the pain. I do that when I get hurt, just go on and on about what crosses my mind in that moment.

The Doctor sighed and snapped two fingers in front of my face to help me focus. "Focus, Amy. I know it hurts, and I'm sorry, but I need you to concentrate. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

"Good. Alright, we are here now and I believe it's gone." He mumbled, standing up.

Things got strange and a bit crazy after that.

Vincent started stumbling around and yelling wordlessly, then picked up what may have been a hay pitch or pitch fork of some sort and started jabbing and swinging it at thin air.

The Doctor got knocked around a bit, paintings got slashes in them by a set of something sharp that no one could see. The Doctor picked up a second sharp object and swung at air with a lot of enthusiasm, even after the invisible creature left.

It was Vincent that chased it off, since he was the only person who could see it. He was also the one to carry me inside the house and gently deposit me in a chair.

The Doctor checked me over and even subtly ran the sonic screwdriver over me while Vincent went into the other room for cool water in a basin. "Ah, blunt force, a minor gash on the calf. Clean bandages, ointment and a bath will set you to rights. You'll be good as new in no time at all."

Vincent tended to my cut with freshly washed hands. He was gentle and kind, even as his large calloused hands applied ointment and wrapped my leg in clean bandages.

Shortly after, he sketched what he saw, and the Doctor ran off with the canvas once he was shown. I was left with Vincent, alone in the house, and all I could think about in that moment was his large, calloused hands working on my leg.


End file.
